Malfoy's Do Not Cry
by Sikka12
Summary: Draco Malfoy grew up with the simple fact that a Malfoy should never show weakness, no matter what. And as he stood before his son's grave, he mused over many things, reliving old memories, both good and bad, as he waits for the clock to strike twelve. One-shot.


_Disclaimer: No, I don't own the Harry Potter series, or I would be living in Spain in a horse-shaped mansion (long story) with my best friends and a dog named Princess Puzzle. Yes, I'm living the dream. _

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**Malfoy's Do Not Cry**

''One of the most important rules a Malfoy has to follow, is that Malfoy's do _not _cry, do you understand me, Draco?''

That was one of the first things his father had taught him as a young boy. It was a lesson he'd taken to heart, something he followed his whole life.

Like he had told his own son when he fell off his first broom and scraped his knee, ''Malfoy's do not cry, Scorpius. Now sit up so I can heal that properly, you're getting dirt all over your new robes, and your mother _just_ brought them last week.''

Even if he did resent his father for all the wrongs he had done in his life, and what he had done to Draco's by forcing him into serving the Dark Lord, Draco still respected that rule.

It's what kept him going for years, the need to live up to the expectations, the knowledge that he could not fail.

Crying made you weak. It was as simple as that.

If he had just broken down crying after the war, he would never have accomplished the things he'd done because he would have been a proper mess and not been able to focus out of self-pity.

He'd worked hard to rebuild his reputation, while trying to establish a place for himself in a world that saw him as a traitor, a right coward. No better than his father, who was still rotting in a dark cell in Azkaban.

In the end, he had done it. He'd managed to get rid of his old shadows, and started anew with Astoria, one of the few who'd forgiven and approached him after the famous battle at Hogwarts.

''Good, you've survived. I'm glad.'' She hadn't even looked at him when she'd said it, just walked right past him in the war-torn corridors, not even a glance at his reaction to her statement.

He had never taken much notice to the young fifth year before that, only knowing her name and that she was related to his year mate, Daphne Greengrass.

After that, he could not help but notice the young Slytherin, who held on strongly to her own opinions, and had much more beauty than her older sister.

He'd started talking to her. In the beginning it was small, feeble things, unimportant and a bit stupid, but she had answered him back and started engaging him in different discussions. Before he knew it, he had taken quite a liking to the young Greengrass, and after a few months they'd started going out.

Astoria didn't care about what he had done, or what the public thought of him. She told him she liked getting her own opinions before she judged people, and ''to be quite frank, you looked rejected after the battle. I felt a bit sorry for you,'' she'd answered honestly.

They continued going steady for half a year, where they'd both shorted out their problems after the war, and kept in contact frequently.

His mother had been very pleased when he introduced Astoria to her, and had quickly started talking about silverware and weeding bands, making it very awkward for Draco, although Astoria had just laughed and replied, ''all in good time.''

All in good time indeed, three months later when Draco's trial was over and the mess with his father and the Malfoy mansion had been taken care of, Draco brought a manor for him and Astoria and proposed the day after.

To Draco's delight, Astoria said yes and moved in with him a week later, making his mother ecstatic when she got the news.

After that, came the best time of Draco's life. Getting a job at the ministry, marrying Astoria, honeymoon to Romania to visit the dragons, Astoria announcing that she was expecting a baby, and of course, Scorpius' birth.

Draco let a smile grace his lips when he thought of the birth of his son. But it quickly disappeared as he pulled out his wand to cast a tempus. Almost a quarter to twelve, he should be here soon, Draco mused silently.

_He called it The Incident. Because that is what it was, an incident. A stupid, unavoidable incident had taken his son from him, his Scorpius. _

_He should have known something was wrong that Thursday evening, when their fireplace had turned green and Headmistress McGonagall's head had appeared and asked him and Astoria to come to Hogwarts as quickly as they could, her voice filled with grief. _

_But he hadn't suspected it. He and Astoria had just looked at each other; silently agreeing that something was terrible wrong and it involved their son. _

_They had Apparated outside the school gates, where an unusually quiet and pale Filch had escorted them to Dumbledore's old office, now belonging to the Headmistress. _

_Astoria didn't wait one second to start asking questions. ''What happened? What did he do? Is he hurt? Oh, please say it wasn't that uncle of Rose Weasley again, was it? I've told Scorpius to stop accepting gifts from that man!'' Draco put his hands on her shoulders to calm her down, keeping McGonagall gaze locked with his. _

_Something was very wrong. She looked near tears, still in her night robes. Draco took notice of the other teachers there, only the Head of Houses were currently present. But someone was missing._

''_Where is he?'' He asked quietly, still keeping his eyes firmly on the Headmistress who choked back a sob. The teachers appeared on the verge of tears also, Professor Sprout was already crying._

_Dread filling his whole body, a million possibilities going through his head all at once, he repeated the question again, this time with a hint of steel in his tone. _

''_I'm so sorry…I…'' McGonagall seemed to get a grip on herself and continued. ''An hour ago, Filch was patrolling the halls, when his cat suddenly started calling out. Filch quickly located his cat on the fifth floor, looking down the stairs…'' She took a deep breath. ''It seemed young Scorpius was trying to sneak up to the Gryffindor tower when the stairs decided to change… From what we gathered from the pictures, Scorpius tried to jump the last bit before the stairs moved too far, and he…'' The headmistress seemed unable to continue, collapsed on her chair, suddenly looking older than Draco had ever seen her. _

''_He…he…slipped... Didn't manage to hold onto the staircase and…fell down from the fifth floor… Filch located the body at the bottom…already too late… there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do…'' _

_And with those last words, Draco's world ended._

They were given the body back to give a proper funeral, only surrounded by the ones closest to them and their son. It had been a quiet fall day; the leaves had all fallen off the branches by then, making the cemetery look like something from a picture.

Draco insisted on having Scorpius buried at the Malfoy family's own cemetery, refusing to let his son be buried with a bunch of strangers, as weird as that sounded.

Astoria didn't participate in any of the funeral arrangements, too lost in her grief to care about what tone of grey her son's gravestone would have. The only time she had intervened was when the flowers had to be picked out.

''Bluebells, I want Bluebells, nothing else but that.'' She had stated tonelessly, looking Draco right in the eyes. Bluebells it was, then.

After the funeral came the worst couple of months of Draco's life. His marriage to Astoria took a strain, as she had sunk into grief and depression, refusing to leave the bedroom to even shower. Draco went with the flow, becoming a hollow man who did what he had to do and nothing else, only to collapse into a chair every evening and drink his depression away.

It was at the fourth month that Draco had enough, and stormed into the bedroom quarters only to find his wife a sobbing mess, holding Scorpius' old letters from his time at Hogwarts that neither of them wanted to get rid off.

He'd kneeled beside her looking down at his son's messy handwriting, portraying his different adventures and lessons, always ending with a 'I love and miss you both, Scorpius.'

Astoria had flung herself at him, holding on so desperately, while continuing to cry.

''Don't ever leave, don't ever let go…'' She'd whispered into his ear, and he promised to never let go.

_He'd loved his little son as soon as he'd laid his eyes on him. His little tuft of pure white hair, his dashing eyes that looked almost identical to Draco's own, and his tiny fingers, which had clasped around his thump when he held him and had then refused to let go again. _

_He'd kept himself presentable and had been a good host while they had congratulating visitors, but let himself relax and sigh from exhaustion when the sun had gone down and the last of the visitors had Apparated back to their respectable homes. _

''_I think all the excitement was a bit too much for Baby Draco,'' Astoria stated affectingly as she held her sleeping son in her arms, gazing down at him with proud eyes._

''_Did you just call him 'Baby Draco'?'' Draco inquired, amused by his son's nickname, as long as nobody else heard it. His hard-earned respectable image among his colleagues and business associates would be ruined._

''_It's only fitting, isn't it?'' She looked up and met his eyes, badly disguised mirth dancing in her own. ''He has the famous Malfoy beauty, if I do say so myself. He will be a charmer in the future, with his dashing looks, stunning eyes and of course, the trait mark Malfoy hair. Huh, others won't even be able to tell that he's my son.'' She'd pouted. A rare show of childishness that she did not normally portray unless they were alone and she wanted something from Draco. _

_He refused to admit that she usually ended up getting her way one way or another, immature pouting aside. _

''_I've also been thinking about names. The party's tomorrow and we simply cannot keep calling him Baby Draco forever,'' She'd mused, ignoring Draco's muttered ''you're the only one who calls him that!'' _

_But his wife did have a valid point. The traditional party held in his son's honour was tomorrow, and it was old custom to formally announce the child of honour's birth name. Purebloods had done it as a way to show off their offspring and establish future engagements for centuries. _

''_What about Hyperion? Yes, Hyperion Malfoy. I quite like it, it has a nice ring to it.'' _

_''Hyperion? Dear, I'm not naming my son after a fable greek deity. I draw the line there. I think Scorpius is a much better name, and fitting for a Malfoy heir.'' _

_In the end they'd compromised, and could the next day formally introduce their son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, to their friends and family._

He let out a sigh, not caring about the cold that much. It was to be expected, the summer was over and winter was quickly approaching, the trees already losing their leaves.

He'd done what he had come to do, like he always did. It was not for sentimental tears that made him come, nor was it responsibility, like others thought it to be. No, it was so much more than that. Something he didn't even understand made him come here, in the death of the night, where only the shallow ghosts of the past held him company.

It comforted him, in a strange way. It's what made the next day bearable, having to put up with all the sympathy and the reminders, not having a moment to be himself, and not the sympathy case that his friends and colleagues seemed to believe he was.

Astoria would probably be waiting up for him, making sure to have his favourite tea ready. She did it every year, knowing that she didn't need to wait up, but she always did and Draco would never be able to tell her just how much that meant to him.

And then he heard it, the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating behind him. The sound of footsteps quickly followed, letting Draco know that the person he had expected had arrived precisely a quarter to twelve.

''Wow, almost four seconds from being late, Potter? And here I thought I would have to do without the Saviour's sympathy vote. Why are you here?''

''You knew I would come, so don't go all snappy on me, Malfoy. I hear Astoria's well?'' Potter inquired, immediately changing the subject to less important things. But Draco was tired of being on the receiving end of the Wizarding world's champion's pity. It was infuriating, letting Potter see him at his weakest.

''You're probably the last person I'd expect to show up, even if you did so the last couple of years. Is it fun, Potter? To see the Malfoy git grieve over his son's grave?''

His laugh sounded hollow and bitter, even to himself. He was no longer the proud and arrogant teenager who'd boasted his father's name around, expecting to be obeyed by all. He had put his childish and naïve tendencies behind him after the war, focusing solely on rebuilding his life with Astoria.

He owed Potter a lot; he would not deny that fact. Potter had saved him in the Room of Requirements, and later convinced the Ministry of his innocence after the war had ended and they were rounding up Death Eaters.

Despite their past, Potter continued to come every year without fail, if only for a few minutes to exchange a few words and lay down the flowers. _His_ favourite flowers, the ones he would always go around picking in his mother's garden in the spring, regardless of the fact that Astoria would be furious afterwards.

''Why?'' he asked quietly as Potter bend down to lay the Bluebells on the ground in front of the headstone. ''Why do you insist on coming every year at the same time at the same place just to deposit some flowers? You could come during the day like everyone else, instead of showing up in the middle of the night. I'm not looking for a shoulder to cry on, Potter.'' He practically hissed the last sentence, trying to get his point across without things going all mushy and tears on him.

Potter straightened up and met his distrustful stare head on, his green eyes unreadable behind those horrid glasses that hadn't changed through the years.

''I'm not even going to try to imagine how you feel, Malfoy. We never liked each other, but the past is the past, and I forgave you a long time ago for what you did.'' Potter responded quietly and without a hint of sympathy.

Good, Draco didn't _want _his sympathy, nor his friendship. And Potter wasn't offering either of those, only the simple truce they'd both wordlessly agreed on when they parted ways back at the Ministry after Potter defended him at his trial.

Draco wasn't a fool; he knew Potter had actually cared when The Incident was publicly announced to the world, probably because of his offspring.

Scorpius had told his father through his numerous letters of his strong friendships to Rose and Albus Potter, and after his first year at Hogwarts Draco had let him visit the Potter manor in the summer holidays.

Draco respected the fact that his son had friends outside of Slytherin, and he was quite pleased about how popular Scorpius was among his peers, seeming to be friends with just about everyone in his year.

Of course that didn't mean that he had to _like _that his only son had befriended his old enemy's offspring. But after some ah, _convincing _from Astoria, he had accepted it, as long as the three didn't become the new 'Golden Trio'.

Potter let out a quiet sigh and moved to stand by Draco's side, laying a hand on his shoulder that Draco didn't shrug off.

''You know where to find me. See you next year, Malfoy.'' And with that, Potter walked away behind him, the sound of Apparating signalling that he was gone.

Typical old Boy Hero behaviour, it was. Always making people so stupidly grateful that their saviour would spare them even a second, too bad it didn't work on him. But Potter would come, he knew.

And that thought was oddly comforting, a feeling that quickly got squashed again. He wasn't one of Potter's fan girls.

He turned and walked away without sparing the gravestone a second glance. The Bluebells lay innocently on the ground, a subtle reminder of an old rivalry ended, and a bitter-sweet memory of a young boy happily picking flowers to surprise his parents with on their anniversary.

The clouds parted slightly to briefly allow the full moon to shine down on the graveyard, illuminating the little headstone at the fifth row on the left. The words carefully engraved into the light grey stone visibly displayed for world to see.

_Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy _

_2006 – 2018_

_A loyal and caring friend. _

_A dearly loved and honourable son. _

_A young life lost too early. _

He continued walking along the old dirt trail as the clock in the distance struck twelve, therefore entitling it the sixth anniversary of his son's death.

He did not look back as he drew his wand at the cemetery's gates in order to Apparate back to his home, where his wife were waiting for him with a cup of his favourite tea.

He would not look back. He would not acknowledge the prickling at the edge of his eyes, or the way his lip was beginning to tremble slightly as he concentrated on his destination. He would not acknowledge it.

Because Malfoy's do not cry.


End file.
